


Disciplinary Measures

by Flazéda (peternurphy)



Category: Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft
Genre: Aftercare, Caning, Discipline, Figging, M/M, Nerf, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 14:54:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10389288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peternurphy/pseuds/Flaz%C3%A9da
Summary: Nyarlathotep, trapped as a human and staying in the palace of Ilek-Vad, attacks a servant. Randolph will not be having this.





	

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted to shameblog666 on tumblr

When they get to the quarters, Randolph sits Nyarlathotep in one of the pulled out wooden dining chairs and looks down at him. There’s still blood splashed across his face, there’s still hair out of place and clothes messed up, and he’s smirking. The clock in the other room is the only sound as Randolph keeps hold of Nyarlathotep’s upper arm and tries to think of what he can say to make him stop thinking that this whole situation is funny.

Which would be a waste. Had the razor struck an artery and killed Zaul, Nyarlathotep would still be laughing and smiling at him. All the words in Randolph’s mouth dissolve as he realizes their futility – so he tries again.

“What, exactly, were you trying to do?”

“Nothing in particular. What can I say? I got bored.”

His voice is breathy and carries a laugh. Randolph wants to smack him. Instead, he lets go of the arm, turns away, takes a few deep breaths. “I don’t think I need to tell you that you almost killed him.”

“Correct.”

“And I also think that you already know you could have told me if the isolation was getting to you.”

“Correct again.”

“You did it because you wanted to, and because you thought you would get away with it.”

“And I know I’m not going to be proven wrong.”

Randolph pulls a chair up in front of Nyarlathotep and meets the black eyes – once void-like portals, now reflecting the soft candlelight and glittering. A playful shimmer, lacking any sense of seriousness or fear, even with his weakened state. “What makes you think that?” he asks, but he already knows. He’d brought Nyarlathotep out of the dungeon, to the comfortable adjacent bedroom. He’d fired the guards that had been harsh with him. The latter was something Randolph would do with any prisoner - the former, admittedly, was a special case.

Nyarlathotep crosses his arms and looks over Randolph. “You’ve been making sure I’m comfortable when I tried to kill you, and had I the chance now, I would try again. You couldn’t bear to see something beautiful destroyed.”

“Destroyed?”

“Isn’t that what you’d do to me? If you weren’t… well - the way you are,” and Nyarlathotep tugs on his ear and flicks his tongue across his lips. The message gets across, but Randolph doesn’t respond. “If you were anyone else, you’d have me killed on the spot, or leave me in the dungeon to waste away and die. I did it because I was bored and wanted to hurt someone, and you’re not going to do anything about it other than keeping a closer watch, because there’s nothing you can do to change what I am.”

Randolph looks at him. Takes in the bit of blood on wet lips, full and mocking in a smooth, symmetrical face. The cheekbones sit high and close under eyes that were once deep black but now have faded to a softer, warmer brown. And apart from just under the eyes and near the inside of his lips, spots of dark brown dried blood dot Nyarlathotep like freckles. Without the glamours, Randolph can see faint lines of stress and fatigue - mild differences between the left and the right brow, little scars needing more time to heal. The features are less exaggerated towards a certain ideal. But even within the realms of what a human could look like, the face draws Randolph in while making him feel he should look away.

Then he sighs. “No. I don’t think there’s anything I could do to change something that fundamental.”

“Then I’m glad we had this conversation.”

Nyarlathotep stands up and begins to pass Randolph towards his quarters. He stretches and pulls his head to the side and his neck cracks, loudly. For a moment he stops - but it’s barely a second before he continues.

“Where, exactly, do you think you’re going?”

“To bathe, and then to go to sleep.”

Randolph grabs his arm again - this time lighter. “No, you’re not.” Nyarlathotep turns to face him, eyes narrowed and head tilted quizzically. A deep breath - from both of them, likely. He feels Nyarlathotep begin to pull away again, and grabs his other wrist. “You’re not as strong as you were. I’ll-” He looks him over again. “I’ll give you five minutes to bathe.” Nyarlathotep’s eyes widen at the time limit. “Alright, ten.”

“That’s not nearly enough time for the water to get warm,” protests Nyarlathotep, and Randolph nods.

“You’re right. Five minutes it is.” And Nyarlathotep gasps as Randolph lets go of his arms, and it takes until Randolph coughs until he disappears into his quarters and the sound of running water and a shocked yelp at the cold is heard.

From a wooden drawer above the chilling cabinet, Randolph takes a large ginger root and turns it over in his hands. The skin is rough and Randolph can smell the spice faintly. A drawer just above that contains, among other things, a small, sharp, knife. From the coatstand near the entrance to the sitting room he takes a rattan cane - originally left behind by some fling, and, to Randolph’s satisfaction, still willing to swish harshly through the air.

He sits to carve the ginger - sliding the knife under the skin and leaving a small pile on the table. Randolph decides he’ll clean it later - for now, he twirls it in his hand to check for any missed spots along the thumb. Simply a protusion of yellow from the rhizome, stinging his nose and making the air pungent. It’s probably been approximately five minutes, Randolph thinks.

None of the doors within Nyarlathotep’s adjacent chambers lock from the inside - so he goes through the bedroom into the bathroom and pulls Nyarlathotep, wet and shivering and protesting, from the tub. “Dry yourself off,” says Randolph, and Nyarlathotep does so quickly.

“Tell me, Randolph Carter, what exactly is your plan?”

Randolph watches him toss the towel onto the floor, and narrows his eyes at Nyarlathotep until the towel is placed on a hook. “As you’ve made so clear, I can’t convince you with words to stop attacking my servants. I also won’t be able to suddenly make you a good person who abhors violence. But I don’t think it’s worth it to simply lock you back in the dungeon. While this plan was hasty, I think it should have an effect. All I plan to do is make the consequences more unpleasant than whatever rush you get from your sadism.”

“Hence the cane.” Nyarlathotep glides through the door without even considering his state of undress; he comes to the bed and lies across it. “So I suppose this means the rumors were true, hmm?”

Randolph prays to several different gods to keep his composure. Nyarlathotep is making no effort to regain modesty, no effort to cover what lies between long, rosy sable legs and under hip bones that jut out from a deceptively soft and smooth looking stomach. If Randolph Carter were a less principled man, he’d wrap his arms around that stomach and toss Nyarlathotep onto the bed for him to have his way with.

Instead, he takes the pillow and sets it on the center of the bed. The ginger is held in his left hand - apparently still unnoticed by Nyarlathotep. Randolph taps the tip of the cane on the pillow. “Over.” Nyarlathotep obliges, with a libertine shift of his legs and his ass. It points up, symmetrical and near perfectly round before it meets the small of his back. Randolph can’t help but stare for a moment - and Nyarlathotep must be aware of this, for he spreads his legs and arches his back.

“This how you want me?” Nyarlathotep asks. The teasing was inevitable, Randolph thinks, and he takes a second to bite his lip and still his blood. He remembers the techniques taught to him by Kuranes for use before more intense rituals - and runs through one before setting the cane next to Nyarlathotep’s posed form and taking the ginger in his dominant hand.

He parts Nyarlathotep gently, but practically. Evidently, Nyarlathotep has kept himself groomed. The entrance is a patch of darker and less smooth and soft skin between his legs, the muscles there already twitching. “I knew you would,” Nyarlathotep purrs. Randolph slides the ginger in, and he moans in a clearly exaggerated manner.

“Six strokes for taking and hiding the razor. Twelve strokes for the attack on my servant, who I promised would be safe. And remember that this is meant to be a warning - so don’t think this is the farthest I will go to make sure you don’t ever want to hurt my servants again.” Randolph takes the cane.

At this point, Nyarlathotep is starting to move and shift his legs around the ginger. “What did you put in me?” He asks - his voice now dangerously low, with the last grasp on his amused tone.

“Fresh ginger. I suppose you’ve noticed the sting by now - that should keep you relaxed through…” Randolph swings the cane over him. “This.”

“You’re a clever man.”

“And you’re going to hold still and think about how you won’t be assaulting any more of my staff.”

Nyarlathotep’s squirming is minor enough that Randolph has no fear of missing the first stroke. It lands precisely perpendicular to the cleft between the flesh, leaving a reddened, darker line slowly growing in intensity. It puts a stop to the wriggling, and now Randolph sees the back of Nyarlathotep’s ribs expanding and contracting slowly.

“Hurts when you can’t heal, yes?”

“It was worth it.”

In the middle of Nyarlathotep’s response, Randolph raises the cane - just as he finishes the sentence, he strikes just below the first welt. It runs parallel, leaving the same purple blush as its evidence. This time, Nyarlathotep gasps. “I will say, I’m impressed at the ingenuity with the ginger. Perhaps humanity has its use after all,” He says, but his voice is strained, and Randolph can see the stretched anal muscles twitching and pulling around the ginger.

“Big words, from a defanged god being spanked like an errant schoolboy.”

The words escape Randolph’s lips before he can process them. They’re harsh and teasing - and as much as Nyarlathotep’s stiffening and the clenching of his fists are satisfying, Randolph regrets being drawn in by the taunts. He sighs, and swings the cane below the second welt, now below the protruding ginger root. Nyarlathotep makes a high pitched noise and pulls his body towards the head of the bed involuntarily. Randolph makes no effort to be gentle when he drags him back into position by the ankles.

The next two, Randolph makes sure are fast and hard. He doesn’t want to give Nyarlathotep the chance to have the last word - so he places them below each other in the same fashion, and watches with a small smile as Nyarlathotep clenches his cheeks from the pain of the welt, then unclenches from the pain of the ginger, in a rapid and desperate manner. As he starts to relax, Randolph places the last of the six strikes for the razor at the very bottom of the convex of Nyarlathotep’s ass. He hears him cry out and sees him shift his entire body to try to relieve some of the pain. From Randolph’s side view, he can now see Nyarlathotep’s cock pointing rigidly just at the edge of the pillow.

For both of their sakes, he ignores it, and chooses again to take Nyarlathotep by the ankles and pull him back into position. He watches, amused, as Nyarlathotep curls his toes and tighens his leg muscles. “The next twelve are for Byron.” He swishes the cane parallel to the curve of Nyarlathotep’s back and sees a shiver from the whistle of the rod. “And I think I’ll also have you do something to make it up to him.” The first of the dozen lands with a very aurally pleasing noise, just above the initial. “And the servants, who are going to be missing a very valuable member of their team…” Just above that, the next stroke. Nyarlathotep is rocking sideways now; Randolph sees a slight spot of dampness and a twitching cock when he turns in a certain manner. The old welts have faded to a lighter color in the center, while fresh blood is drawn to the new ones.

The ninth is just on the edge of an old welt, and makes Nyarlathotep bury his head in the mattress and cry out, loud and high pitched. Randolph sets the cane down. “We’re halfway through,” He announces. The sheets muffle a sniff, and the springs quietly complain at the shifts for stimulation. Randolph strokes his hair, gently. “My servants won’t have anything to worry about after this, right?” Nyarlathotep immediately looks up.

“They won’t.” His eyes are wide, and without the perimeter of kohl, pink irritation from the tears tinges the lid and waterline. He reaches back, rubbing the muscle of his thumb over the raised welts and the darker blush around them. His pout is petulant and reflects the views of remorse from humans Nyarlathotep must have seen in his millions of years of existance. “I’ll leave them alone - I’ll even be nice to them!”

For a moment, Randolph is tempted to put down the cane and speak to him again. To take Nyarlathotep’s words at face value, to warn him that if anything like this happens again, he will be getting the full eighteen strokes. Surely, the fact that Randolph did anything would show Nyarlathotep that he means business. He will keep order in his palace, and no servants will be harmed under his watch.

And then he remembers Nyarlathotep’s history of sincerity. He swishes the cane as if he’s thinking, as if he’s deliberating upon giving mercy. Nyarlathotep looks at him expectantly, lips twitching upwards. “It really hurt,” he adds. “I don’t want to risk anything more.”

“What would it say if I just stopped now?”

“That you’re merciful and kind?”

Randolph can’t help but chuckle at the flattery. “That’s already been established,” he responds. Nyarlathotep’s smile grows a touch sardonic. “I strive to follow through on what I say I will do. I think it’s something you could learn from.”

“I follow thr-”

He doesn’t wait for Nyarlahtotep to put his head down before slicing the cane through the air and onto the lower convex of his buttocks. Nyarlathotep squeals through closed lips and presses his face down. He kicks his legs futilely - and Randolph waits again. “I don’t think I can afford to be lenient at your request right now,” he says calmly, and cuts the next strike mere centimeters above the last. “I want to get this over with as much as you do, trust me. But I don’t want to leave an impression that I can be swayed by sweet words and promises. Zaul is in hospital right now - but since you clearly don’t care about that, I want to make sure you face the full, painful consequences in a way you’ll process. Understood?”

He punctuates his last word with a welt that echoes through the air. He can see Nyarlathotep grinding slowly against the pillow again; he can hear sustained and less dignified sobs. Somewhere beneath the sniffing, there is a noise of agreement. “That being said, I will go lighter for these last six.” Randolph pauses. “And…”

Randolph sets the cane parallel to Nyarlathotep’s prone form, and gently parts his cheeks again. He takes the knob of ginger in two fingers and pulls gently on it. It pops softly as it comes out - Randolph wraps it in tissue and sets it on the side table to dispose of after. He hears the words “thank you,”, muffled by the pillow.

With his wrist at a much smaller angle, he holds the cane back over Nyarlathotep’s ass and taps lightly. Nyarlathotep visibly tenses. Randolph maintains the same angle as me makes an experimental stroke and simply colors a line of purplish pain among the raised, now white and red at the center, welts. He repeats this smaller hit - perhaps more of a tap - the remaining times, starting at the center and moving downwards. The very last is directly where Nyarlathotep’s ass meets his thighs, and immediately afterwards, Nyarlathotep draws his knees to his chest. He’s still hard; Randolph can see the wet marks of precum on the pillow.

“I’ll leave you for a few moments to…” He coughs. “Regain composure. I have a salve, for when you want it.”

Randolph takes the wrapped ginger before shutting the door lightly behind him. As he sets the cane in its home and tosses the ginger into the trash, he realizes that his hands are shaking and his skin is flush. He rinses his hands - they’re clean already, but any potential contamination from handling the ginger or the air is rinsed away by the water. The salve - aloe vera in a small ceramic pot - is kept in a chilled box whose sigils glow faintly white. He thinks for a moment - then sets a teapot on the wood stove.

He’s set the two cups of tea on the glass table in the sitting room and cleaned out the pot by the time Nyarlathotep emerges in near silence. Randolph jumps a little when he sees the figure in the soft, champagne color robes moving towards him. His face is cleaned and composed, his form tall and forward. Randolph gestures to the couch.

“Will you-” Nyarlathotep starts - then gestures to the salve between the cups of tea.

“Do you want me to rub the salve in for you?” Randolph asks; Nyarlathotep nods. He reaches for Nyarlathotep’s hand - soft and uncalloused - and, gently, pulls him closer. As Nyarlathotep stands next to him, he sits with his feet on the floor and points at his knee.

The robes shift as Nyarlathotep places himself across Randolph’s lap. The arch of his back, the upward curve of his rump, his legs, visible through the translucent fabric under the warm lights. Randolph gently tugs up the fabric to reveal the blushing stripes. Nyarlathotep’s face is buried in shame in the cushions of the couch - Randolph hums softly and opens the salve. It’s clear and green and cool on his fingers, and Nyarlathotep’s response to the first application on the still hot, raised welt is a whimper.

Randolph spreads it with two fingers - he wouldn’t want to be accused of being improper at this time. “I don’t want my servants to be put in danger,” he says softly.

“Understood.” Nyarlathotep arches his back to reach for the cup of tea. He looks back with a smile. “And I don’t think I’d want the cane again.”

The skin shines from the aloe vera gel and Randolph finds himself with more of his hand in contact with Nyarlathotep. “Then I’m glad we could reach this understanding,” he says - and he begins to feel the blood move towards his legs again. He recites the cantrips quietly-

Nyarlathotep’s smile deepens. “You don’t have to do that.”


End file.
